A Matatu Hit My Car and Ran Off — Here’s How I Made Them Pay Me Ksh350K

This is a story about a memorable Friday evening. I was driving home from work in Westlands. I live along Waiyaki Way, but I decided to pass through the CBD for a quick errand. While waiting at the traffic stop on the slip road to Ojiji roundabout, it happened. 

First, there were screams, then a violent, metallic bang that jolted my entire body against the seatbelt. My car was filled with a cloud of dust. In the rearview mirror, it appeared as though my Rav4 had developed an elongation. A matatu had rammed into my car. 

A traffic officer manning the stop witnessed the whole thing. The matatu driver, an elderly gentleman about the age of my father, was deeply apologetic. “Brakes zili-fail, boss. Pole sana,” he muttered. My boot was crushed, the taillight was in pieces, and the bumper was destroyed. To avoid causing more rush hour traffic, we were waved towards Parklands Police Station. That’s where my real nightmare began.

If you’ve ever spent an evening in a Nairobi police station, you know the script. We arrived at 6 pm. I left after 10 pm. The officer on duty seemed clueless. The driver kept insisting he was broke. The owner was unreachable. Crucial documents, like the OB number entry, were mysteriously hard to find, a classic prelude to the unspoken request for “kitu kidogo” to grease the wheels of bureaucracy. I was exhausted and frustrated but refused to play that game.

The next day was a friend's wedding, a welcome distraction. The officer had told us to return on Monday. That morning, I got a call from a woman who introduced herself as the matatu owner. She sounded reasonable, even concerned. “Let’s meet at the station,” she said, “we’ll have my garage sort you out.” A wave of relief washed over me. Maybe this would be simple after all.

I was wrong. When I got to the station, she was nowhere to be seen. My calls went straight to voicemail. A contact tipped me off that she was likely inside, sorting out the officers to have her vehicle released quietly. 

The matatu was gone from the station parking lot a few hours later. The arrogance was staggering. They had hit me, admitted fault, and they were now  getting away with impunity. 

It was not like I expected them to fully repair my car. I was already tired of the circus. Remember, this was a working day and my leave day appeared to be going to waste. I would have accepted Ksh30,000, maybe even less, just to make the problem go away. Now, it wasn’t just about the car. It was about principle.

I called a friend who is a lawyer, who then referred me to a firm experienced in traffic matters. I laid out my situation, stressing that I wasn’t exactly swimming in cash after this incident. They understood. A demand letter was issued, and when it was ignored, we moved to the Small Claims Court. 

I thought it would be a straightforward, three-month affair. But the delays started. The matatu owner’s lawyer would claim their client was sick and couldn't attend court. It was a clear strategy to frustrate me into giving up. 

Testifying in the small claims court remains a memorable court. The opposing lawyer twisted my words, trying to imply I had somehow caused the accident. But I stuck to my truth as laid out in the affidavit. 

The traffic police officer who testified wasn't the one who witnessed the accident, he was equally subjected to a grilling cross examination that left me thinking my case was dead. But after months of delays and anxiety, the magistrate delivered the judgment. I had won. The court awarded me Ksh350,000 for the damages.

After paying my lawyer and other expenses, I walked away with about Ksh250,000 – enough to give my battered car a new lease of life. 

Looking back, the experience was my baptism by fire into the realities of driving on Kenyan roads - and Nairobi more specifically. 

It taught me two invaluable lessons. First, patience and principle can pay off. The matatu owner’s arrogance made me pursue justice, and it was worth far more than the quick, lowball settlement I would have initially accepted. 

Second, comprehensive insurance is not optional. I got lucky — but imagine if the ruling had gone against me? Or if the driver had vanished for good? Nairobi’s roads are unpredictable, and “savings” from going third-party only are not worth the risk.

Most importantly, I'm grateful I found a lawyer who was willing to fight for me, even when my pockets weren't deep.